


many crowns of violets and roses at my side you put on

by starraya



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, title from sappho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-14 01:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14760429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starraya/pseuds/starraya
Summary: It starts as soon they meet each other for the first time. They give each other gifts - not always material.





	many crowns of violets and roses at my side you put on

It starts as soon they meet each other for the first time. They give each other gifts - not always material. Advice on cactus alternators. On cigarettes. _I think you're meant to light it._ Serena offers to buy Bernie another drink after she sees Bernie knock back a whiskey in Albies, but Bernie thanks her, declines, has something she needs to do at home.

Serena learns of Bernie's affair with Alex, the real reason why Bernie's marriage is breaking up and she feels as if Bernie's lied to her. Bernie's olive branch is a lift home when Serena's car is stolen. And a particularly interesting patient. They decide on who will led the surgery with an arm wrestle. Secretly, Bernie lets Serena win.

During Serena's suspension over the files missing from her car, Bernie looks after Serena's ward. Keeps it running like a well-oiled machine. She looks after Serena too, since it's her first day back. Bernie suggests a proper handover of power. When Serena learns that Henrik asked Bernie to oversee AAU, to oversee her, Serena doesn't take it well. Thinks Bernie is babysitting her, scrutinising her, waiting to catch her out. But Bernie only wanted to make sure that the person working with Serena had her back. At the end of day, contemplating leaving for good, Serena finds a brown parcel on her desk.

_Serena. Welcome back. In case of emergency . . . Bernie._

It's a survival kit - complete with shiraz.

Serena realises she's been defensive, accustomed to being double-crossed, to being doubted. In Henrik's office she admits to Bernie that they are equals. She suggests they co-lead AAU, giving Bernie half her kingdom but, more importantly, also giving Bernie her trust. Maybe she does need someone watching her back after all, and she's happy to watch Bernie's in return.

Quite literally, it turns out. When Bernie's back gives her gyp, Serena offers to take a look. Her hands knead out the knots in Bernie's shoulders, but tie new knots in Bernie's stomach. Serena's massage makes Bernie realise two things: Serena's touch is very nice, and she would happily have Serena touch her forever.

_Oh, fuck._

Bernie frantically tries to rationalise her emotions. She's lonely. She's touch-starved. She misses feeling cared for. And she's definitely not turned on.

-

After a chaotic day on the ward, Serena puts in a good word about Bernie with Henrik. He will grant AAU the funds for a much-needed trauma bay, but Bernie sees it as, first and foremost, Serena's gift. It will leave no uncertainty. AAU is Bernie's as much as it is Serena's.

She finds Serena in the Peace Garden to say thanks. Finds her trying to hold back tears. Bernie wraps an arm around Serena. Doesn't give her any meaningless platitudes, but a moment to let out her grief. 

On the day the trauma unit opens, she takes an overwhelmed Serena outside for some fresh air. Reassures her that what happened isn't her fault. That she needs to prioritise what's important to her.

In Albies later, with Bernie and Jason by her side, Serena feels something she hasn't in a while. A sense of contentment. Of something slowly falling into place. She puts the first down to the wine. Puts the second down to unwinding after a long day and saying goodbye to the tyranny of the boardroom. The way Bernie is looking at her, eyes sparkling under her fringe, a small smile dancing on her lips, has nothing to do with it.

-

On the theatre floor, Serena comforts Bernie. The stabbing wasn't her fault. She couldn't have known what would happen.

Tears in her eyes, Bernie kisses Serena. She gave Serena her heart weeks ago, and only now does she realise it.

-

Bernie gives Serena space. She knows the kiss made her feel uncomfortable. "We should toast our undeniable sexual chemistry," Bernie suggests, "and say no more about it."

Bernie gives Serena space, and then, after accepting the secondment, far too much space. Hundreds of miles of space. Gives her, Serena will drunkenly rant to Raf, fuck all. No replies to her texts or emails. Only radio silence.

Once back in England, Bernie knows she owes Serena an explanation. Owes her so much more. More than she can express. Later that night, all the promises, all the apologies, all the love she cannot put into words, she gives to Serena's through touch, through the gentleness of her hands, the firmness of her tongue.

-

In the days that follow, they are stuck on separate shifts. Several times. Maybe it makes the time they spend at Bernie's flat or Serena's house - or rather Bernie's bed, Serena's bed, Serena's sofa, and Serena's shower - all the sweeter. But they both miss working opposite each other in theatre and Serena is glad they are both on shift tomorrow at the same time. She just needs to get through today.

As soon as she steps on the ward, she is needed in theatre and doesn't sit down in her office until four hours later. On her desk she finds a spool of cotton thread. White. To match the buttons on her striped shirt. The horribly expensive one.

Bernie's also left her a note. _I never did say sorry for your shirt._

Serena chuckles. Thinks of the buttons that rolled on the tiles of her hallway floor, scattered somewhere. Courtesy of Bernie's very eager, very talented hands. Serena doesn't mind. If her bra hadn't made it through the night intact, however, well she might think differently. That too was new, expensive and, she admits - no longer kidding herself that it was simply an indulgent treat for herself, to make her feel good - brought with Bernie in mind.

-

This, Serena thinks, was a very good idea. She rubs the massage oil into Bernie's back, presses her fingers into Bernie's shoulders and Bernie moans. _A very good ide_ a. Borne, of course, out of concern for Bernie's troublesome back, and a desire to ease any pain she is in when it gives her gyp.

Except it's hardly a selfless act.

Bernie has a very, very lovely back. And when long after Serena's hands have soothed the ache and traversed every inch of Bernie's soft skin from just above the waistline of her jeans to the top of her spine, Serena brushes away Bernie's hair and leans down to place a kiss . . . and another . . . and another . . .

Each lower and lower.

Serena's voice is quiet, but sure. "Turn over."

-

On the evening of the 23rd of December, as they sit together on Serena's sofa and the credits of _Carol_ roll, Serena gives Bernie a kiss on the cheek and slips a key into her hand. Bernie's eyes widen. Serena sees Bernie's mind rapidly cycle through all her knowledge of aeroplane flights over the festive period to eastern European countries.

_Shit._

"It's - it's not, well, not unless . . ." Serena says. She explains quickly that it's doesn't have to mean anything, nothing momentous. It's just that Bernie's spent so many nights since she came back from Kiev around Serena's house, and they've planned for Bernie to spend most of Christmas here, and for their children to meet each other for the first time here and . . . Serena wants Bernie to always feel welcomed.

Bernie smiles. She puts the key, gleaming and silver, into her pocket. Kisses Serena.

"You know," Bernie says, "this is the last night in a while we'll have the house to ourselves."

-

Two days before Elinor's funeral, Bernie returns to Serena's house with groceries and Serena is gone. Within the space of two heartbeats, a dozen visions flash in her mind. None of them good. Bernie pulls out her phone from her pocket. She has it on silent. Forgets she owns it most days. She opens her texts.

Serena: _Needed some air. Went for a walk._

Bernie types back. _Okay. I'll make some tea for when you get back. Love you._

Bernie crosses out the last two words. Replaces them with an X. She spends five minutes working out how to turn on the notifications, how to make the phone chime every time she gets a message. Succeeds, somehow. Or thinks she does. She places the phone on the kitchen side. Puts away the groceries. Doesn't expect Serena to text her back.

She doesn't.

By the time Serena steps through the door an hour and 17 minutes later, Bernie is on her second batch of chicken and vegetable soup. She searched for the recipe online. It looked simple enough, but she added a bit too much pepper, distracted by more visions, more questions about where Serena was and when she'd be back. If. A lot of ifs had whizzed around Bernie's mind and she had hacked at the carrots, tore at the onion, and, fucking hell, rubbed her stinging eyes with her hands.

_Idiot._

In her race to wash her hands at the sink, the onion had slid onto the floor. She threw it into the bin and turned on the hob. Everything else was in the pot and she heated the soup. Only upon curiosity a while later, did she taste it. Taste nothing but pepper. The soup joined the onion. She started again.

Serena arrives home to warmth, the smell of parsley (the new pepper, liberally heaped into the pot) and vegetable waste scattering the kitchen surfaces, a washing-up bowl cluttered with cutlery, washing-up boards and her best pot.

"Why have the Luftwaffe invaded my kitchen?"

Bernie jumps out her skin. Some of the soup she was pouring into a container to reheat later splashes on the hob. She abandons it to turn to Serena, wearing her red coat and winter hat. Her nose is red, and her lips are chapped. Bernie reaches for Serena's hand.

"You're freezing."

"Lost my gloves," Serena says. She unwraps her scarf from her neck, shrugs off her coat in the heat of the kitchen. "I thought it might snow, after all this cold."

"Soup?" Bernie asks, voice tentative.

Serena nods. "I'll set the table."

They eat the soup. Neither of them comments on the parsley overdose.

The next day Bernie goes out to buy Serena gloves, fleece lined, for the dropping temperatures. Plain black, for the funeral.

-

Serena goes on longer and longer walks. Walks miles and miles and miles. Walks back from Holby to her house, unable to follow Bernie into AAU.

January blurs into February. The bite of the wind sharpens. Grey clouds clog the sky and the snow underfoot turns to black slush.

After an afternoon of walking, first to the grave, and then as far away from it as she could go without getting lost, Serena's feet are blistered, and she searches the medicine cupboard in her bathroom. There are unopened packets of plasters in there that she didn't buy, small and large.

-

A week later, she comes home from another walk and Jason says that Bernie left a parcel for her. Neither of them knew when she would return and Jason told Bernie he would keep it safe for his aunt.

Serena picks at a piece of bread, tosses half of it away and pours herself wine. Lunch and tea in one. She settles on the sofa and unwraps the shiraz-coloured wrapping paper.  Bernie still can't wrap neatly to save her life - Serena remembers Christmas - but tying perfect bows are now part of her skillset. Quite the surprise. Inside the parcel is a jar of scented bath salts, rose and jasmine, and a lavender pillow. She sniffs them both, before reading the accompanying note.

 _To help you sleep._ X.

A bath seems both too luxurious and too laborious, but she thinks she can manage a quick shower. Serena finishes her glass of wine - her first and last that night - and reaches for her phone. Clicks on Bernie's name.

"Hi, I got your present. Would you - would you like to come around for a bit?"

-

On the roof of the hospital, Bernie asks Serena what will make her happy. There are too many ghosts, too many echoes at Holby. She needs somewhere new, somewhere where she can finally exhale. And Bernie knows she must do it alone, so she lets her go.

-

They close the trauma unit and the next day Bernie boards the Eurostar to France, to Serena’s arms. These past months, keeping AAU firing on all cylinders in the day and returning to an empty flat at night, have drained Bernie.

France replenishes her.

The sun is hot on her skin, cooled by the tears that run down her cheeks when Serena picks her up from the train station. Serena rolls down the windows of her car and Bernie inhales the smell of cut grass, watches the breeze ruffle Serena’s silver hair, watches endless yellow fields pass behind the profile of her face.

Bernie closes her eyes. Without meaning to, she dozes off. When Serena hears Bernie's soft snores she doesn't take it to heart. She wonders how well Bernie's been looking after herself. Serena knows for a fact it won't come close to how well Bernie looked after her, despite her best efforts to push Bernie away, after Elinor's death.

But things are different now. Not back to how they were before January, not perfect, not amazing. But different. 

When they arrive at the villa, Serena lightly taps on Bernie's shoulder and murmurs her name. "Come on, sleepyhead," she says when Bernie stirs. Serena vows to take good care of Bernie for however long Bernie needs her to. 

The first step entails a meal of salad, cheeses and freshly baked bread. Alas, brought from the local bakers this morning. Serena had tried to make her own yesterday, after she'd recovered from the surge of excitement and nervousness following Bernie's call, but the loaf, whilst not bad for a first attempt, hadn't turned out quite as she had expected. Translation: it was more burnt black than golden brown.

In her time in France, Serena hasn't cooked anything that wasn't easy or fairly quick. She hadn't got the energy yet, or the patience, focusing only on eating more regularly, but she thinks she'd liked to cook for Bernie, or at least try to cook. Something rich in flavour, she thinks, Italian. Lasagne, perhaps.

Even though Serena had mostly dined out for tea in the last few weeks, it had taken her some time to let herself indulge, to let herself enjoy food again. She can only guess how Bernie's been eating, alone in her flat in Holby - a diet of half-eaten, pre-made sandwiches, a concerning amount of coffee, take out Chinese and little else. She plans on plying Bernie, in the upcoming days, with good food, plans on taking her out to her favourite places, the restaurant with the coffee creme brulee to die for, the cafe with the most sinful chocolate souffle, plans on giving Bernie the finest wines she has tasted to try and the plumpest, sweetest fruit she buys from the Sunday market. 

Later that night, she also happily offers herself up, underneath Bernie's hungry mouth, as part of the feast.

- 

Serena discovers that, in her rush to leave Holby, Bernie packed even less than the bare minimum. She's forgotten her toothbrush (Serena gives her a spare) and her pyjama shorts (not a problem, at least for the first night). She remembered her hairbrush, though, which Serena laughs at.

But Bernie is short on clothes, especially ones suitable for the hot weather. New clothes might be a good idea, Serena suggests to Bernie, after living in scrubs for the past few months and they go shopping together. They spend far too much time in a sunglasses aisle. Serena picks out the most, to say it lightly, unfashionable sunglasses she can find for Bernie to try on, causing both of them to collapse into fits of laughter. Bernie refuses, however, to wear the heart-shaped ones, so Serena perches them on her own nose and in a deadly serious tone asks: "Do you think we should buy these Jac Naylor?" 

- 

Lying in bed the next morning, watching a sleeping Bernie, Serena feels guilt creep up her spine. What right does she have to the happiness she felt, joking around in the shops with Bernie? Or the peace she felt, drinking shiraz on the veranda as the sun set with Bernie last night? or the sheer joy of spending hours together rediscovering each other’s bodies?

Serena blinks back tears. They are here. Bernie is here with her. And that is what she must hold on to. They will make new memories together, happy memories, but that doesn't mean she will forget her old memories, will forget Elinor. A tear rolls down Serena's cheek and she wipes it away.

Bernie turns around to face her and Serena face brightens, considerably. She wants to ask Bernie if they should go and see the Wizard of Oz to get her a brain, but Bernie looks so adorable, slowly rousing, and Serena doesn't want to startle her awake. She waits.

"Morning," Bernie says a moment later, voice thick. Her eyes open.

"Afternoon," Serena corrects her. "You look like a scarecrow." 

Bernie's hair is wild, sticking up at odds and ends and her fringe looks ridiculous. 

"Hmm," Bernie smiles, remembering how Serena likes something to cling on to during sex. "Your fault." 

"Here." Serena takes off the hair tie she wears on her wrist, now more out of habit than anything else. Bernie knows Serena used it during her depression in America, pulled at it for the same purpose she ripped up hundreds of pieces of paper, to let out some of her rage at the unfairness of life, to feel something when grief had hollowed her out.

“Sit up,” Serena says, getting to her knees as Bernie does. She gently strokes back Bernie’s hair and ties it up. “Now, I can see you better.” She cups Bernie’s face with her hands, brings Bernie’s mouth to her own.

**Author's Note:**

> Shush, morning breath doesn't exist!
> 
> More seriously, my mood has been wildly up and down lately. This fanfic started as a coping mechanism for thoughts of self-harm (which is implied extremely lightly earlier on and more obviously thought the coping mechanisms), but it turned into a much happier story than I anticipated. I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
